


Fly Away, Pain

by raisedbymoogles



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: ....as fluffy as galvatron ever gets, Chronic Pain, Fluff, M/M, Massage, brief mention of boyfriend/2iC abuse, chronic damage, galvafeels, medic!roddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 02:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13354797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: The hands of a Prime are the hands of a healer.-or-Pushy, demanding Galvatron is demanding and pushy, but can you really blame him?





	Fly Away, Pain

Some nights the pain cannot be borne, only expressed. Yelling works, sometimes. When it doesn’t, there is always something to vent the pain upon: an enemy fortification, a future tribute state, a misbehaving subordinate. Cyclonus, whether he’s misbehaved or not.

And then there is Rodimus Prime, whom Galvatron hurts with more thoughtfulness and care than he would anyone else, who laughs and enjoys and begs and _takes it_ with such unshakeable sweetness that it sets Galvatron’s dental ridges on edge, and is therefore _not for venting._ He’ll sit aside while Galvatron blasts away at sparkless targets though, watch with patient sympathy until the ache of exhaustion overtakes the scream of processor-damage, until Galvatron is good and finished tearing some inanimate bit of the scenery asunder; then he sits on his knees, and Galvatron stumbles over shaking with (pain) unspent rage and lies down supine with his aching helm pillowed in the cleft of the Prime’s thighs.

“Speak of this to no one,” he orders every time, and every time Rodimus agrees with amusement in his vocalizer.

The touches begin cautiously - a bare stroke along his crown, silently asking for permission. Galvatron grants it with a dimming of his optics and a downshifting of his internal engines, the high rattle of his body easing to a low rumble. Rodimus’s fingers find their way to Galvatron’s temples and apply pressure there in small, practiced circles. This is the worst part, the pressure makes everything worse at first and Galvatron tenses, a whisper of a snarl curling in his throat, but Rodimus is fearless and knows what he’s doing. In time the tension eases, and with it, the pain.

It’s the strangest of sensations. Aches dull, damage heals, and the sparks that plague the corners of Galvatrons optics nigh-constantly disappear. It should be terrifying, this absence - the first time Rodimus coaxed him to allow this, Galvatron had to keep looking at himself to make sure he was all still _there._ Now he just squeezes his fingers together now and then over his chest, _just to make sure,_ and lets Rodimus get on with things.

“How’s your jaw?” Rodimus asks, and Galvatron lifts his chin in silent command. The fewer words, the better.

Rodimus’s fingers slip under his chin, thumbs finding that one spot between jaw and helm, and Galvatron’s throat vibrates in an unvoiced groan as _his Prime’s_ hands push in and slide, chasing the tension out. The metal of his face is harder than a normal Cybertronian’s, less prone to flex and more prone to crack at the seams, but Rodimus knows how to treat him. There are no sparks of pain below his optics, no unsettling shifting at unnatural forces squeezing him inside and out (his entire world hazed in red, the agonizing crush of _obey obey obey_ ). Just Rodimus’s hands, firm pressure, and the strange hazy ebb of pain that is almost, but not quite, surcease.

(“I do have some medical training,” Rodimus explained to him once. “Just field repair, but - you know, if you ever wanted, I’d be happy to see what I can do.”

“Do?”

“You know. To help it stop hurting.”

“What for?” Galvatron asked, honestly baffled, and Rodimus looked away and did not ask again.)

Rodimus tends to lose himself in this task, and he startles when Galvatron abruptly levers himself up. “Done already?” he blurts.

“Shoulders,” Galvatron demands, and growls without heat when Rodimus chuckles behind him. Rather than obey immediately, Rodimus leans against his back, his helm tucked down in the crook of Galvatron’s neck, the warmth of him soothing tense backplates. “You and your nonsense,” Galvatron grumbles.

“Jerk,” Rodimus answers affectionately. “I better get a proper hug out of this, you know.”

Galvatron does not deign to answer that, but he does purr his engine encouragingly when Rodimus finally starts rubbing his shoulders so firmly that he has to brace his elbows against his knees to keep from being pushed forward. Rodimus rises up on his knees behind him to bring his weight to bear, and this time Galvatron’s groan escapes his throat.

“Never get tired of hearing that,” Rodimus comments, and Galvatron can hear his smug smile in his voice.

“Silence,” he retorts, but upon reflection - one untinged by pain - he thinks he can let the Prime have that one.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Tumblr post that got shared on Twitter. Viral Galvatron feels!
> 
> Personal note: partially inspired by my own jaw problems. Though mine are probably due to stress/mental illness rather than chronic pain.


End file.
